Break the World
by Mizu Iruka
Summary: Zombie apocalypse, anyone? The Leviathan's experiments went a little bit wrong. Vicious rabid zombies, unabashed schmoop, and debilitating physical injuries within. Ye be warned.
1. Chapter 1

** Break the World**

* * *

**A/N:** This short AU assumes that Cas never returned in S7 to mess with Sam's crazy, and that the Leviathans were not defeated in the way we saw at the end of S7. Oh and the zombies are only sorta zombies; more like rabid crazy people, actually, not technically walking dead rotting people. That's all. Enjoy!

* * *

_Break the world I know_  
_I fear I'll never see the light of day,_  
_I need you here and now_  
_Take the pain I hold,_  
_It's crying out to be the end of me,_  
_But I can't hear the sound -Nine Lashes, Break the World_

* * *

Dean heard the door and schooled his features quickly into a placidity that would mask his pain. Hopefully.

"Dean?"

"In here," Dean grunted, focusing on the maps in front of him. "Good raid?"

Sam snorted, flopping down onto the chair across from Dean. "Yeah. Last time we had a good raid was months ago. We're going to have to move on, soon."

Dean looked up sharply. "Really?"

Sam nodded. Dean cursed, and Sam offered him a bitter smile. "Yeah, I know."

"No other options?" Dean checked.

Sam rolled his shoulders, sighing. Dean noted a wince, but decided to save that discussion for later. "The rabids aren't giving up. You would think that they would run out of people to infect and kill, but somehow they're still carrying on." Sam paused, glancing over the maps spread out in front of Dean. "What's this?"

"Sewer system. I was trying to discover a defendable position underground in case China decides to nuke us again."

"Russia was the last one to nuke us," Sam corrected mildly. "Yeah, somehow I doubt living in a sewer would help."

"Got any other suggestions, genius?" Dean scowled.

Sam gestured placatingly. "I still think we should separate from the group." His eyes darted away from Dean's.

"Why?" he asked slowly. "Are they giving you a hard time?"

Sam shook his head. "It's just . . . difficult. I'm just bitching, ignore me." His smile was tight and dimple-less, as most of them were.

"If you're going to avoid the question, at the very least let me help you with your back," Dean insisted.

Sam conceded with a sigh. "Thanks, man. How's your knee?"

Dean shrugged off the question, gesturing Sam to get on the bed and wheeling after him.

"You stayed in your wheelchair today?" Sam asked into the pillow.

"Yes, dad," Dean mocked. "Shut up and let me help before your back seizes up and you can't move for days."

"M'hero," Sam slurred as Dean hoisted himself onto the bed and began kneading the tight knots out of Sam's back. Sucking in a gasp, Sam arched as Dean hit his lower back. Dean stopped.

"Remember what we said about hiding injuries," he said sharply.

"Mm hm. Don't do it." Sam's eyes slid closed again.

Dean skimmed over the bruises and focused on Sam's upper back. "Rabids catch up with you?" he asked, trying to keep any anger out of his voice.

"I think I fell. Lucifer pushed me," Sam mumbled.

Dean's hands stilled and he had to take a couple deep breaths, just so he wouldn't stand and punch something. Most likely he would then fall over, and that would be a disaster.

"He hanging around today?" Dean asked.

"S'okay, Dean." Sam's hand flopped around until it nudged up against leg, unerringly squeezing at a point that helped the pain from his knee drain away. "M'good. I know he didn't really push me, promise."

"Remember what I've said. You die, I'll make a deal to get you back, and then I'll haunt you for all eternity."

"Empty threat," Sam mumbled. "Stop worrying so much."

"What else am I supposed to do, stuck here?" Dean grumbled under his breath.

"You stay safe. Stone number one."

Dean kept working at Sam's back without another word. What could he say to that?

Getting himself ready for bed was a bit of a production, and despite how embarrassing it was to have Sam always helping him, Dean missed it now. With a grunt, he eased his jeans off—Sam's voice echoing in his head 'it'll be easier if you just wear sweatpants, moron'—and rubbed at his aching knee. Dean pushed out of the wheelchair and fell into his bed in a very ungraceful motion.

Sam mumbled something about the cage in his sleep, and Dean squeezed his eyes closed. This was their life, now.

* * *

"Wake up," Castiel murmured. "The least you could do to make Dean happy is get him coffee."

Sam blinked open his eyes and frowned. Castiel hadn't shown up for a while, and he wasn't sure what it meant that he had appeared this morning. His back cracked painfully as he got to his feet. Dean was sacked out on his bed, and Sam crept over, pressing back a smile. Dean was drooling.

Easing the blanket back, Sam carefully began working at the pressure points for Dean's knee, earning him some sleepy grumbling, and then a sigh of relief as Dean stopped moving.

"He's so still, you'd think he's dead."

Sam ignored Lucifer, but briefly settled his hand over Dean's heart. Just in case.

"No hugs before coffee," Dean mumbled.

"Uh huh." Sam patted him affectionately and moved to their small kitchenette. Sam made a face at the amount of water left and decided he could do without coffee this morning. Dean needed it more.

"Wha' time'zit?" Dean called.

"Six. Go back to sleep, Dean," Sam responded. Dean grunted something else before his voice trailed off.

Sam wrote Dean a quick note before letting himself out and blew out a frosty breath into the frigid air.

"The hounds are behind you," Lucifer whispered in his ear. Sam shivered at the baying and took off for his traditional morning run. His crazy tended to work with him, during the bright early mornings when everything was so much more real. Didn't mean they went away, though. Hellhounds were one of Lucifer's favorites.

The compound was silent aside from the hellhounds, and a sudden fear clenched Sam's insides. What if he was all alone? They could have been overrun with rabids last night.

Sam returned to his and Dean's cabin and heard Dean singing a Metallica song obnoxiously loud.

Letting himself in, Sam relaxed as the heat soaked in through the frigid exterior of his skin. Real. Real, comfort.

"Gonna eat breakfast, Sammy?"

Sam hugged Dean from behind, putting up with the token annoyance and complaints from his brother. Real brother.

"I have a raid today," he announced, clearing the table as Dean finished scrambling the eggs. Sam was ridiculously thankful for the chickens their group kept. "Have you been to the storage units lately?"

Dean frowned. "You just went on a raid yesterday."

"Uh huh. And you weren't paying attention when I said that we hardly got anything."

"Ah." Dean swallowed and narrowed his eyes. "Couldn't you let the others go?"

"I have the best aim." Sam popped a few dry saltines into his mouth, willing his saliva to provide enough moisture to choke them down. "You going to train today?"

"Someone has to make sure those kids don't kill themselves." Dean's face was set in his typical I'm-useless-and-I-hate-myself expression, so Sam took a bite of scrambled eggs.

"Hey Dean."

He waited until Dean turned to look at him and then showed him an open mouthful of scrambled eggs.

"And I'm the immature one?" Dean snorted, but the edge of his mouth was pulling up, so Sam was satisfied.

"What do you want?"

"A jacuzzi."

"Dean."

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Dude, just go after what the compound needs, don't worry about me."

Sam waited patiently, staring Dean down until his brother relented.

"Gum. Mint gum."

Sam grinned, big and wide. He could do that.

* * *

Dean hobbled over to the entrance, running a weary hand through his short hair. "They back yet?" he asked Han.

"Nope. As you already know. You need to stop asking."

Dean made a face and leaned against a convenient oil drum. "Gotta give you something to do."

Han sighed. Dean smirked. Han was practically a kid, but he was oddly serious and responsible, aside from insisting his name was now Han Solo because 'it's a zombie apocalypse, I might as well be able to pick my own name.'

"Here they come."

Dean didn't relax until he could pick Sam's shaggy main sticking out among the group. He had a body slung over his shoulder, and Dean winced.

"Get Carla," he told Han, limping to the fence and undoing the set of locks.

As soon as he was close enough, Sam narrowed his eyes at Dean, eyes looking at Dean's leg pointedly. Dean kept his gaze on the body over Sam's shoulder, and Sam turned his attention to the more important issues, though Dean knew he would get an earful when they got home.

"Vicky. Open wound at her shoulder and she got some of a rabid's blood in it."

"I can talk," Vicky groaned. "Just put me down already."

Sam gently set her down and skittishly went back to stand next to Dean. Comforting people wasn't his speciality anymore.

"She has her vaccine though," Peter murmured. He flicked a glance back at the open gate and immediately jumped to close it up.

"I need to be locked up," Vicky said jerkily. "C'mon guys, don't wimp out on me now."

"M'sorry, Vicky," Sam whispered. They both knew that the vaccine only worked part of the time. Blood to blood contact was the most likely way to get infected, though saliva would do it as well.

The others bustled around, getting Vicky settled. Dean tugged on Sam's elbow, recognizing a bad day when he saw it.

"What happened?" he asked, the sooner they got it out, the better.

"Found a convenience store that'd already been raided, but the storeroom was locked. We broke in and managed to get some supplies. Guess we were too noisy, though, and Vicky was the first one out of the store."

"Sorry, man." Dean used the hand not gripping his cane to pat Sam's back. Sam's dazed gaze caught onto Dean and he sighed.

"Dean, you need to use your wheelchair."

"It's too muddy," Dean defended.

Sam looped an arm under Dean's shoulders, taking a good portion of his weight.

"Don't you dare try and carry me," Dean growled.

"Uh huh." Sam didn't respond with a joke like Dean had hoped. Any time someone got hurt, Sam got this way.

"Don't blame yourself," he tried next.

"If you promise to use your wheelchair all day tomorrow," Sam returned.

They got to their cabin, and before Dean could do anything, Sam had hoisted him over one shoulder like he had Vicky.

"Dude, what do you think you're doing?" Dean used his good leg to lightly knee Sam in the chest.

"You're not walking up the stairs," Sam said calmly. Dean slumped in defeat, unwilling to tussle as Sam took the front steps one at a time.

"You're lame," he said sullenly.

"Yes, Dean, insults will help mitigate the humiliation of being carried, I know."

Dean didn't give voice to the relief that Sam could use his ten dollar words. At least that was some sign of his crazy not going too, well, crazy.

Sam got Dean settled in his wheelchair and then stood, looking a little lost.

"Hey." Dean reached up and snagged Sam's sleeve. "Did you get me any gum?"

Sam's face split into a smile that Dean had been waiting for, dimples and everything, and he pulled out a package of twinkies from his pocket. "Better."

* * *

**A/N:** This will be a very short chapter story. Just a couple chapters, really. IDK I was just in the mood to write about zombies and this came out. It'll probably happen again in the future and I'll have to change things up so I'm not repeating myself :P

Okay so I'm really not in the mood to watch S9 because I know I'll just get annoyed, but is anyone willing to explain something to me? I've seen a couple pictures of Crowley with a syringe of blood . . . what is that about (or is it unknown atm)?


	2. Chapter 2

** Chapter 2**

* * *

"Sam, you need to focus on getting gasoline. If we do need to leave, then that is the priority."

Sam inclined his head in agreement. Carla acted as a pseudo-commander, along with Dean whenever Dean got an idea stuck in his head.

"Vicky?" he asked quietly.

Carla shook her head. "We'll have the service tonight when your team returns."

Sam bit his lip.

"It's very like you, getting everyone killed," Lucifer commented.

"It's not all his fault," Castiel admonished.

Lucifer shot an annoyed glance at Castiel.

"Sam?"

Sam refocused on Carla. "Yes, right. Sorry, did you say something else?" He surreptitiously pressed the middle of his palm over the knots of scar tissue.

"No. Bring them back, okay?"

Sam nodded and stepped back. Gun loaded, machete strapped to his hip, a can of holy water inside his jacket, just in case.

The others followed his lead without question, though Sam noticed the glances he always got. They knew he was crazy, at least a bit. But they also knew how good he was, so Sam didn't have to worry about some kind of mutiny or something.

They couldn't waste gas on getting into the city, so it took a couple hours just to get into the meat of Nashville. Of all the places to hole up, it wasn't the best, but it wasn't the worst.

"We're looking for a gas station that might have some gas left," Sam said, just to break the silence of the group and interrupt Lucifer's monologue on how his apocalypse was better.

"We won't be able to carry a lot back with us," Peter said.

"Take what we can," Sarah, Vicky's sister, said. Sam did a double-take. He hadn't thought about it earlier, but she shouldn't be out. Not now. Too late.

For once, they didn't run across any rabids as they wandered into the city. Whenever Sam felt like counting his blessings, he was thankful that the rabids weren't like zombies from the movies, drawn to human presence. Rabids just would stumble across their path. And then go crazy.

The first three gas stations had nothing, and the convenience stores attached had been raided as well.

A little off the beaten path, though, they stumbled across one that looked relatively whole.

"It's quiet," Sam observed, taking point and scanning the area.

"I'll check the pumps," Peter offered.

"Sarah, cover him." Sam checked around the convenience store in case some rabids were hiding behind, but there was nothing. Still on edge, he gestured for Dave to cover him as he entered the convenience store.

"Too quiet for rabids," Dave said. Thankfully, rabids had absurdly terrible hearing, so they didn't have to worry about being heard themselves. Rabids relied on sight and smell.

Sam relaxed minutely, scanning the store. "We need to mark this on the map. Take what you can."

The store was pretty busted up, but still had some supplies. Sam pocketed a candy bar for Dean and shoved as many water bottles as he could into his backpack.

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"I heard something." Dave pointed to the bathroom.

"Get behind me," Sam commanded. Nudging the door open, he half-expected the rabid to leap out, but still hated the shriek and demented movements of what was once an adult female. A bullet to the brain, but the sound wasn't over. Sam swung, waiting for another to jump out, but instead, his gaze fell on . . . a nest.

Behind him, Dave swore.

"Babies? They're making babies?"

"Now we know why they aren't dying out," Sam muttered, swallowing down nausea.

"C'mon, Sammy, it's easy to kill babies. You've done worse." Lucifer smirked over Sam's shoulder. Michael was there as well, Sam's guilt coalesced in the shape of Adam and Michael combined.

"Just kill them," Adam/Michael said. "Easiest thing in the world, for a monster like you."

"Go out and watch the others. I'll finish this," Sam told Dave quietly.

The worst part was, they looked human. Sam stabbed the three as they cried together, their red eyes showing that they were infected. Stumbling out the door, Sam threw up violently, ignoring the noise from his team and the angels mocking him.

* * *

Dean somehow managed to miss Sam's raid coming back in, too busy pouring over maps with Carla. By the time he heard that they had made it back with enough gas to fuel half of the vehicles they had, Sam wasn't among the group.

"What happened?" Dean asked. On such a successful raid, they should have been more talkative, at the very least.

"They're reproducing. The rabids," Dave said. He looked a little pale. "Babies, man."

Dean swore under his breath and scanned the compound for Sam. The small group of cabins didn't have a lot to offer for hiding away.

"I think he went back to your cabin," Peter offered. Distractedly, Dean thanked him and set off at a lope that put a lot of strain on his knee.

"Sam?" Dean shoved the door open without any hesitation. "You in here?"

Limping into the room, he found Sam curled up in a ball on Dean's bed, shivering. Dean ignored his own pain and crossed the room over to him.

"Sammy?" he pleaded. "Talk to me."

Sam whimpered and shook. Dean gently brushed back his hair from his eyes, finding them bloodshot and shiny with unshed tears.

"Is this about the raid?" he asked quietly.

Sam was lost in his head, though, and Dean manipulated him so that he was in Dean's lap and petted his stupid hair. On the worst days, Dean had figured out to just ramble about anything, and draw Sam back to him by being close.

"You and me, we're fine, okay? Come back, don't listen to them. Stone number one, little brother, stone number one."

Dean had nearly gone hoarse by the time Sam shifted.

"Dean?"

He tilted Sam's chin up so he could meet his eyes. "Sammy, you back?"

Sam was trying desperately to compose himself, Dean could see it in his face. "Dean, m'sorry, I didn't mean to."

"Shh." Dean thumbed away Sam's tears, remembering Sam crying as a baby and holding him close. "It's okay. You did what you had to do."

Sam closed his eyes tightly. "I didn't want to. You have to believe me, Dean, I didn't want to."

"I know you didn't. It'll be okay." Dean nudged Sam to lie lengthwise on the bed and settled in next to him. "Don't you dare hit my knee in your sleep," he warned.

Sam sat up, startling Dean until his hands found Dean's bad knee and began working at the swollen muscles and tendons. It hurt, but it was a good kind of pain, and Dean gradually began to sink back closer to sleep.

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered, the location of his voice vaguely registering and Dean reached over sloppily, probably nearly whacking Sam in the face as he drew his gigantic little brother in to curl up at his shoulder.

"Don' apologize," he murmured. He pressed his lips into Sam's hair, and Sam finally grew brave enough to hook an arm around Dean. "You're fine."

* * *

**A/N:** lol I don't even know where this is going, okay? Good thing there isn't a dislike button for fanfiction. I think I'd use it myself.


	3. Chapter 3

** Chapter 3**

* * *

"We need car parts."

Sam swore under his breath. "Dean would know which parts to get," he sighed. "But that won't work."

"You could take the 'cycle out, just the two of you," Peter suggested. "With the last raid, we have more than enough gas."

Sam pressed his lips together. "Too much risk," he said tightly.

"It is every single time we go out. If we don't get the right parts the first time, we'll have to go back again."

Sam glanced over at Dean, where he was leaning on his cane, one hand deep in the guts of the Jeep they were trying to put back together.

"I don't want—" he started, and then bit it off.

"We don't have many options here, Sam."

Sam glanced at Michael's powerful glow, and then back at Carla and Peter. "I'll talk to him."

"You're about as subtle as a Yeti when you're angry. Oh wait—" Dean grinned at Sam as he stomped over, cheek smudged with grease.

"Carla says you need parts."

"Uh huh. Pretty specific ones, too."

"Could you describe them to me?"

Dean sighed. "Chances are, even if I were to write it all out, you could get the wrong one. Does Dave know anything about cars?"

"They suggested we go out on the motorcycle and find the parts," Sam admitted unwillingly.

Dean lit up. "Really? Dude, let's go."

Sam scowled. "It's not that easy, Dean, you can't just—"

"Sure I can," Dean interrupted. "Go get my gun and we can rock this town."

"Promise me you won't die. Please," Sam whispered.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Sure, Sammy. Now, get my gun and jacket, okay?"

Sam bit his lip as he returned with Dean's things. It was throbbing, deep in his gut, the sense of wrong.

"C'mon, Sammy, let's get this show on the road."

Sam straddled the bike, feeling Dean awkwardly settle behind him.

"Why am I the girl?" Dean complained.

Sam didn't respond, gunning the motor and exiting the compound under the gaze of the rest, just watching them.

Behind him, Dean whooped, and Sam allowed the tenseness in him to relax, just a little. Dean was with him. It put him in danger, but it still felt right.

They had picked out a decent looking auto shop, and Sam guided them to it quickly. Rabids wouldn't be able to hear them, but they could feel the vibrations.

"Alright, Dean, c'mon." He practically lifted Dean off the bike and kept a hold underneath Dean's shoulder.

"Sheesh, Sam, relax, okay? This isn't my first time, y'know?" Dean said irritably.

"You remember what happened last time, don't you, Sam. Poor Dean's knee, all messed up because you got distracted."

Sam almost told Lucifer to shut up before remembering not to.

"It's all your fault," Castiel said mournfully.

Sam shadowed Dean into the auto shop and continuously scanned their surroundings and Dean searched for parts.

"Dean, hurry up."

"I am, Sam."

Sam tensed at the sound of a screech.

"They're coming," he hissed.

"Got it." Dean shoved the last of the supplies into his duffel. Sam swiftly threw it over his shoulder and took point.

A rabid was headed straight for them, red eyes zeroed in on Dean, putting it on Sam's list of least favorite things ever, right next to Lucifer.

His aim was true, the headshot stopping the rabid in its tracks. But where one rabid was, there could be others.

"Get on the bike, Dean," Sam shouted.

Dean limped over, swinging his bad leg over the bike with a wince of pain. Sam swung a 360, checking before getting on in front of Dean.

"Don't move," Dean said tightly, and a shot went off.

"Get it?" Sam checked.

"Go."

Sam sped off, noting a rabid running for them but the bike, old as it was, was able to keep ahead.

"Best day ever," Dean shouted in his ear.

Sam swallowed, and kept his hands steady on the handlebars.

* * *

Dean was giddy. He hadn't gone outside the compound in six months, and even the short trip had him wired.

"Dude, we should do that again," he said excitedly as they got off the motorcycle.

Sam twitched.

"I'm starving, Sam, let's eat."

Nothing Dean said got Sam to respond. Dean started sulking, feeling like he was twelve and Sam was eight, too interested in his stupid legos to notice Dean's newest awesome trick.

"Wasn't that fun?" he tried as they reached the cabin, offering his biggest grin.

Sam's eyes finally met his. "Yes," he said, but something vibrated behind his voice.

"Then why the sour face?" Dean let Sam help him up the stairs and made his way into the kitchen. "You didn't see the awesome headshot I got. Not to mention your skills."

"It felt like before," Sam whispered.

Dean stilled. "Before my knee," he confirmed tightly.

Sam nodded, hunching against the doorway to the kitchen. "You hurt so much, and I couldn't fix it. I still can't. And I know you hate it, but it scares me, seeing you out there. If you were bitten . . ." Sam's eyes began to look too far inward, and Dean pulled away from his own self-pity.

"Hey, look, we're good, right? And it was a one-time thing, Sam. Trust me, that motorcycle did nothing for my knee. Which is why you will be making dinner." Dean clapped him on the shoulder and plopped down in his wheelchair, groaning as his ruined knee protested the position.

"You need some pain pills?"

"Nah, dude, just some food. Don't burn whatever you end up making."

Sam relaxed enough that Dean was able to wheel himself over to the table to compose himself. It had only been about one year since the zombie apocalypse started, eight months since Dean screwed up his knee, six since they had joined the compound. Things weren't perfect, but it was fine. The Leviathans had gone crazy from their own experiments and eaten each other, and all they had left to worry about were pseudo-zombies, Dean's knee, and Sam's crazy.

Yeah, everything was fantastic.

"Dean, I burned the tomato soup." Sam peeked out of the kitchen, face contrite.

"Hopeless," Dean muttered fondly, and wheeled his way into the kitchen.

* * *

**A/N:** is this fic still going? Don't ask me why. Maybe one more chapter before I give up because idk.


	4. Chapter 4

** Chapter 4**

* * *

Something felt off about the raid, and Sam had to dig his knife into the palm of his hand to get rid of his distractions.

"Dave, do you see anything?"

"No, why?"

Sam twitched. "Nothing."

Peter yelled, and Sam swung around. For a second he thought it was just another rabid, but the lack of sores and the teeth . . .

"Get back!" Sam shouted, hefting his shotgun and shooting a couple useless rounds into the Leviathan.

"Sam, what is that?"

Sam swore. None of the others had ever seen a Leviathan.

"I'll handle it," he called. "Stay back."

The Leviathan's eyes were red. Sam had no idea how an infected Leviathan would react, and took out his machete. No borax on hand to make this any easier.

"Hey, ugly. You missing all your friends?" Sam taunted, stepping forward.

To his surprise, the Leviathan actually focused on him. "Sam Winchester. This is all your fault."

It lunged, and Sam dodged, swinging for its neck and missing. The Leviathan caught him by surprise, its hand swinging for Sam's face. He was too close, and the Leviathan had a shard of metal in each hand. A slash across his face, followed by a line of fire across his middle.

Sam took the blows, inadvertently crying out in pain, but managed to use the time to swing around and chop the Leviathan's head off.

"Sam!"

Sam stumbled back, hand over his middle and his face.

"Bury, bury the head far away from the body," he choked out. Someone's hands landed on his elbow, and Sam shied away.

"Sam, you're hurt, let us help."

"Bury the Leviathan," Sam insisted.

The trip back to base was miserable, but Sam managed to stay on his own two feet. If he passed out, there was no way that Peter, Dave, and Sarah could carry him, even collectively. They were too small.

By the time they reached the collective group of cabins, Sam had come to the conclusion that he was losing too much blood.

"Sam?"

"Carla." Sam tried to smile, but his face wasn't working right. His cheek hurt.

"Hush, Sam. Stop annoying the people with your stupid problems," Cas admonished.

Sam nodded to him apologetically, keeping an eye on Castiel's hand. If he was upset, Cas could touch him on the forehead, and that hurt. That made everything fall apart.

"Sam!"

"Dean." Sam relaxed, Castiel disappearing. "Hey."

Dean cursed violently and Sam shrank back. Maybe it was Lucifer or Michael in Dean's form. They did that a lot.

"Sammy, you moron. Come on, can you make it to the cabin? I'll stitch you up, alright?"

Sam hesitated a moment before deciding that it really was Dean. Dean was trying to hide his limp too much; Lucifer and Michael always played up Dean's hurt to make Sam guiltier.

"It was a Leviathan," he tried to explain. He didn't want Dean to think he was pathetic enough to let a rabid get him.

"That doesn't matter, Sammy." Dean herded him inside. "Lie down, okay?"

Sam made it to his bed, ceiling moving strangely. "I think I've lost a lot of blood, Dean."

"Hush, Sammy."

Sam listened.

* * *

Dean forced himself to focus. No one at camp was qualified to stitch Sammy up, which meant it was all down to him. It had been easy enough to stitch up Sam's abdomen, adding just another long scar to the ones already marring Sam's body, but his face . . .

"This might scar," he said quietly, applying the only topical numbing agent they had on Sam's face.

"S'okay." Sam actually smiled at him, the movement pulling at the wound. "Just insides reflecting the outsides."

"Stop talking, idiot." Dean swallowed, refusing to acknowledge what Sam meant. "Easy, now." He tried to make the stitches as small as possible. The wound stretched from Sam's forehead, cutting through an eyebrow, and down one cheek.

"Sam, can you see out of that eye?" Dean asked calmly. "Blink your other eye once for yes, twice for no."

Sam blinked, and Dean looked closer, his nose almost touching Sam's. "I see a scratch in the surface. Any impairment at all?"

Dean watched Sam's other eye and sighed as Sam blinked once.

"Right." Dean concentrated on stitching Sam's stupid face together. "Well, no more raids for you for a while."

Sam looked like he wanted to say something, but Dean laid a preemptive finger across his lips. "Not done, Frankenstein." He winced. Too soon for jokes? Sam didn't look too distressed, though, and Dean finished stitching him up in silence.

"That's as good as it's gonna get, I'm afraid," he finally said. Sam was half-out of it, but his hand came up, poking at Dean's face.

"S'good. Didn't die, righ'?" he slurred, mouth struggling to form words past the numbing agents and stiffness of the stitches.

"Too close, Sammy. Way too close."

"Alway' is." Sam patted the side of his neck in what he probably thought was a comforting gesture.

"Makes me miss the old apocalypse, sometimes," Dean said, actually half-serious.

Distress appeared in Sam's non-injured eye. "No." The hand against Dean's neck grabbed spastically tighter. "Don't want you to hate me."

"Sam, I didn't hate you," Dean protested weakly, but Sam was pretty much out of it.

Dean didn't really like thinking about the past, not now, when there was so many important things to focus on. Like the radioactivity that they had to avoid when they left.

But maybe he should've looked a little more into the past to help Sam.

* * *

**A/N:** I swear next time I write a zombie apocalypse I will do it right. Pinky promise. One more chapter to this embarrassing monstrosity. Bleh.


	5. Chapter 5

** Chapter 5**

* * *

Sam woke up to a concerned Dean and a mocking Lucifer. The pain from his stitches wasn't enough to keep his hallucinations a way, so Sam surreptitiously dug his thumb into the edge of one on his abdomen, Lucifer flickering away.

"A Leviathan, huh?" Dean asked casually. Sam remembered Dean saying he would rather be in the apocalypse from before and wanted to curl away. He couldn't, though.

Sam's stitches pulled painfully when he opened his mouth, so he nodded instead.

"No raids. You hear me? We're moving out soon anyway, no need to get yourself killed before that," Dean said sternly.

Sam tugged on his sleeve and rasped "where?"

"Where're we going? They were talking about North, possibly Canada. Less radiation there from when all those jerks bombed us. Not like it did any good, anyway." Dean scowled.

"Though' you didn' care abou' pol'tics," Sam joked.

"Stop talking, doofus, you have stitches in your face."

Sam rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact that he couldn't see that well out of the injured one and instead using Dean's arm to lever himself painfully into sitting.

"Easy tiger, where do you think you're going, huh?"

"Have t'make you coffee," Sam managed to say.

"I already got my coffee, Sammy." Dean was looking at him too intently, and Sam squirmed under his gaze. "Look, you take the day easy, okay? I stole Nate and Amy's mini DVD player. Runs on batteries, so it's still good. Wanna watch something?"

Sam shivered and chose to shrug. He didn't like it. He needed to move. Run.

"Sweetheart, you can't run from what you are." Mary petted his hair with a burning hand and Sam cringed away.

"Sammy?" Dean looked patiently at him and Sam broke.

"Please, don't leave. I'll do anything, don't leave, don't hate me," he babbled. His stitches hurt, and something was making them sting.

"Hey, Sammy, no, don't cry. Here. I'm right here. I'm real, I promise." Dean used the threadbare blanket to press gently underneath Sam's eyes. He was crying. He hadn't cried for so long, Lucifer didn't like it.

"I'm sorry," Sam tried to say, but Dean shushed him.

"Hey, if you wanted to hang out together, you just had to say so." Dean pressed Sam back to sit against the headboard and slowly made his way to sit next to him, dragging his bad leg and wincing as he did so.

"I'm sorry," Sam couldn't help but say.

Dean glared at him. "Say that one more time, and I will tickle you to death."

Sam choked back a sob and tried to pull away.

"Sammy." Dean pulled him close. Weak, Sam was weak and pathetic, and broken, and . . .

Dean's hand rubbed Sam's arm, and the hallucinations stopped their noisy conversations. Sam found himself matching the rhythm with his breathing.

"That's it, Sammy. I'm right here. We're both okay, right? You and me. Made it through one apocalypse, and we're still standing. Well, you're standing, I'm sitting, but it's good. I didn't mean it when I said the other apocalypse was better. It wasn't. I just whine 'cuz my leg hurts so much, y'know?"

"I don't like being crazy," Sam said.

"I know you don't." Dean's fingers threaded through Sam's hair, and Sam allowed the touch to ground him, ignoring Lucifer's snide commentary about dependency and how pathetic he was.

"You don't hate me?" he had to check.

"Never have, Sammy."

Sam stiffened. That sounded like a lie. He peered up at Dean's face, studying his brother's face. Tired. Worried. Not lying.

He thought about saying something, but chose instead to burrow closer, Dean's sigh just for form, he could tell. Sort of.

"If you're gonna hang out here, then I'm watching a movie," Dean told him.

Sam nodded into Dean's shirt, feeling his stitches twinge in protest.

He heard Dean mumble "girl," but it sounded affectionate. That was good. That was . . . that was good.

* * *

Dean flinched at the knock on the door. He glanced over at Sam, but thankfully his little brother didn't stir. Hopefully not because he was trapped in nightmares, and Dean grimaced at the thought. He maneuvered himself slowly out of the bed and into his wheelchair.

By the time he got to the door, Dean was scowling in irritation.

"Yes?"

Carla looked uncertainly at him. "Hey, Dean. How's Sam?"

"Recovering. He's asleep," Dean said shortly. "Can I help you?" His voice conveyed that helping her was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Will has said there's a storm coming. A bad one."

Will had been a meteorologist. "Okay, and?" Dean asked, quickly losing the little patience he had.

"And we have to leave. Now."

Dean gaped at her. "What?"

"Chances are, when the storm hits, our way out of the area will be blocked, or it will enrage the rabids so that they find us. Either way, we have to leave."

Dean wished he was standing so he could at least be as tall as her. "Well, we can't, Sam's injured. No way he can even sit up yet, not to mention how much strain traveling would put on him."

"We'll leave you a car and some supplies. You chose the route we're going to take, so it should be easy to follow. I'm sorry, Dean. We have to, with the children . . ."

Dean thought about protesting or getting angry, but rapidly felt too drained to even bother.

"Fine. I get it. Good luck."

Dean shut the door in her face and wheeled back to the room.

"We don't need them anyway, Sammy," he muttered. "Always looking at us strange. They can get over it."

"Dean?" Sam was trying to turn, his forehead folding in distress as it pulled on his stomach.

"Don't move, Sam. It's fine. You just hang out here and recover, okay?"

"They're too loud. Tell them to go away," Sam whimpered. The stitch closest to his mouth looked strained, and Dean gently put his hand across his brother's lips.

"It's fine. Just you and me, like always, right?"

Sam's eyes were flitting past Dean into the blank spaces of their room, but he managed a nod and focused back on Dean.

"That's it. Now, hang on there, I'm gonna grab you some meds, okay?"

Sam hummed slightly, trembling ceasing.

Dean ran through their supplies and what they could do. Convoy was always easier, but they would be fine on their own.

Another knock had Sam flinching and Dean cursing, throwing the door open.

"What is it?" he growled.

Dave withered under his gaze. "I just wanted to say goodbye," he mumbled.

"Oh. Well, thanks," Dean fumbled, rolling back from the door.

"Dave?" Sam was being an idiot and trying to sit up.

"Don't move, Sam," Dave said before Dean could. "We're heading out. I wanted to return this."

Dean watched with narrowed eyes as Dave passed over a hunting knife, but Sam only smiled.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"You've saved my life more than once. I hope we meet up again," Dave said earnestly, young enough to still have that kind of enthusiasm.

"Yeah. Take care of yourself," Sam said.

Dean nodded Dave out and rolled over to Sam.

"They're leaving?"

"Uh huh. You okay with that?"

"Mmm."

"That settles it, then."

* * *

They left after two weeks. Despite Carla's dire warnings, all the storm had managed to do was knock over a few of the trees nearby.

"You sure you're up for this, Sammy?"

Sam straightened and offered Dean a smile. "Sure. Just driving, dude. I can handle it."

"Right." Dean threw him a glance that said he was onto him. "Y'know, I could probably drive."

"With your left leg? Yeah, right." Sam mocked him and dumped the last of their stuff into the trunk of the dilapidated car. "We all set?"

"Looks like."

Sam glanced back at their house. It had been months, and he suddenly realized he was going to miss having a place that he knew and recognized.

"Hey." Dean was watching him carefully and Sam smiled. He had Dean, after all.

"C'mon cripple, let's hit the road."

"I'll show you cripple," he heard Dean shoot.

Sam watched Dean's wriggling to get comfortable out of the corner of his eye as they drove out of the compound. "Nothing like my baby," he muttered.

"Like you want that stupid car back," Lucifer laughed from the backseat.

"Car that saved the world," Sam said absently. "I miss her too."

Dean looked gleeful. "You called the Impala 'her.' I knew I taught you well."

Sam laughed, the power of it taking him by surprise. Even the sight of a rabid swinging their direction didn't stop him. He glanced once more at Dean, and his brother grinned.

"Eyes on the road, Sammy, don't you know how to drive."

"Jerk," Sam tried. It had been years since they had used that particular form of pet name.

Dean laughed, losing years as he did so. "Bitch."

* * *

**A/N:** A couple people have commented and said they did like this story-I'm glad someone did! This kind of concludes this mini-series thing. Anyway. Hope you have a very Merry Christmas! :)


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